Silver Butterflies
by Flash-Indie
Summary: Little girls and guns, and suddenly their hostages, prisoners of their own hospital. It’s funny how things become so much clearer when you think you’re about to die.
1. Jessica

**Title:** Silver Butterflies

**Rating:** Ma

**Disclaimer:** Own little Jessica Tooley and big, 'ole Burke.

**Summary:** Dr. House doesn't believe in coincidences, so he knew there was something more to it when a missing child he read about not 10 minutes before is sitting on his exam table.

**1. Jessica.

* * *

Dr. Gregory House didn't believe in coincidences. **

Well in reality, he didn't believe in a lot of things, irony, God, fate, love, family, hell – not even this hospital. But that's not the point.

The point is that earlier that morning, Chase had left his newspaper behind in the office. A simple mistake, and House being the consistently-bored-out-of-his-mind man that he is, picked it up. Another simple mistake apparently.

Page 3 held a full-page spread on little Jessica Tooley, aged 4 ½, ripped away from her parents loving caress. And this blonde haired, blue-eyed child sitting in his exam room looked suspiciously like that hideously large, pixilated picture.

Coincidence?

"Hi there, kiddo. My name is Uncle Greg, what seems to be the problem?"

Watery blue eyes gazed up at him, desperate for someone to understand the danger of the burly, tank of a man looming behind her.

"My kid's hurt her leg."

"Your kid?" House asked, brow furrowing in mock thought. "Why don't you hitch up your skirt a little, Sarah, so we can take a look at that leg of yours?"

"M-my name is J-Jessica."

"Course it is."

Lifting the dirty hem of her floral dress, she allowed House to peer down at the bloody wound on her upper thigh. Frowning, he pulled on his rubber gloves, and reached for a set of tweezers.

"Mr – sorry, didn't get that name."

"Burke, Dan Burke."

"And I'm Dr. House, nice tattoo," He gestured to the thorny rose that clawed up his arm, "By the way, loved the James Bond reference, Burke, Dan Burke. Pretty suave, my guess is you prefer shaken to stirred to, huh?"

The man, bordering the 7 ft height limit, and being about as broad as he was tall, grunted a response.

"Do you know what's great about being a doctor? You get to spend all those years at University studying genetics and the sort. Ghastly stuff really, but it really helps in a situation like this." He nodded in Jessica's direction, "Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale Caucasian, skinny little thing too." He turned his attention back to Burke, "Bulky, tall, dark hair, dark eyes, South American descent. Tell me what doesn't match."

Burke was fuming, but House paid him no heed, instead he pulled the chunk of glass out of the little girls leg.

"It's also noteworthy that I don't think anyone would sleep with you even with a gun pointed to the back of their head."

The little girl was whimpering now, and House wasn't too stupid to know that said gun was currently pointed to the back of _his_ head. "No, I won't sleep with you, there's a child present, and quite frankly you're not my type."

Burkes breath was heavy and rancid, but his voice was deep, and far too controlled.

"Get on the floor, put your hands behind your head and maybe I'll spare you're lousy life."

* * *

And that was that. 


	2. The Young

**Title:** Silver Butterflies

**Rating:** Ma

**Disclaimer:** Nothing other than the obvious.

**Summary:** Dr. House doesn't believe in coincidences, so he knew there was something more to it when a missing child he read about ten minutes earlier is found sitting on his exam room table.

**1. The Young...**

* * *

Chase was in the ER when the thin, pale girl approached him.

Her dark hair was pulled back loosely, causing it to fall chaotically across her face. Dark eyes were wide in fear, and she clutched desperately to her bleeding arms.

"You alright?" He asked, slowly reaching out to her.

"I think you ought to leave." She muttered, in a proper, English accent.

"Sorry?"

She watched him closely, backing off when he started to carefully approach her.

"Leave." She said, louder this time.

"I'm not goin' anywhere." He said softly, so as not to intimidate her.

"You shouldn't be worrying about me," She said, a twisted smile growing on her gaunt face. "You should be worrying about you." A pale arm pointed behind him.

The next series of events happened in such rapid succession that Chase's brain had to fight to catch up. A blinding pain at the base of his neck, the floor rushing up to catch him. Lights flickered, and the girl laughed, his eyes opened, only just, and her feet were bare.

Darkness was coming, and for the first time in a long while, Chase welcomed it.

* * *

It was 4:47 when the hilt of the gun crashed over the back of her head. She knew because her watch stopped when it hit the ground.

As she groped around on the floor, trying in vain to stop the haziness in her eyes, and the toddlers with sledge hammers (never a good combination) crashing around in her head, she had plenty of time to wonder what the hell had just happened.

Allyson Cameron was an idealist, she frequently defended her opinions in the face of her cynical colleagues, and she always worked to see the lighter side of a dark situation…an optimist, you could say. But right now she saw no idealism, and no silver lining. She'd been treating an unstable patient, when she'd been knocked out, and she'd be damned if she couldn't fight her way back to his bedside.

Her pale eyes glanced the surroundings. House's office, _fabulous, _she'd been moved two floors as well.

Sitting up, maybe a bit too quickly, she immediately notice the distinct lack of furniture in the room, as well as the other body sprawled out beside her.

"Chase?"

Bending over his fractured form, she was quick to check his vitals.

He was alright. For the time being, they both were.

* * *

The gun was held directly between his eyes, and Foreman couldn't help but flashback to his youthful days filled with gang shootouts and break-ins. The past was there, but this was very different, because this wasn't a bunch of reckless kids screwing around with things they didn't understand, these people knew what they were doing.

"You work for Dr. House?" The man said, somehow managing to eye off the surroundings without wavering in his attention on the doctor.

"Yeah." Best to keep it short when dealing with people like this.

"Good, you should know where his office is then."

Foreman nodded, turning around when prompted.

Just agree for now, no point getting them riled. Keep to yourself, stay smart, stay quiet, stay alive.

As he approached that great glass office, Chase and Cameron already inside, he wondered what the fuck was going on.

* * *

Re-written. Kinda .

Short chapter, the next one'll probably be quite short as well, but then they'll get longer.


	3. And The Old

**Title:** Silver Butterflies

**Rating:** Ma

**Disclaimer:** Nothing other than the obvious.

**Summary:** Dr. House doesn't believe in coincidences, so he knew there was something more to it when a missing child he read about ten minutes earlier is found sitting on his exam room table.

**3. ...and the Old.**

* * *

Instinct and gut-feelings are two things that should never go ignored, Cuddy knows this, and if she ever had any doubt, House has proven it on more than one occasion.

She's sitting behind the desk, and with every inch of her body, the hairs on her head to the hairs on her toes; she knows something's very, very wrong.

The incessant tapping on the door magnifies the feeling.

"Come in." Cuddy states, despite her head screaming that maybe this isn't the best idea.

The man isn't particularly intimidating, not too tall, not too burly and a gentle enough face, but Cuddy's intuition is going on the sprits.

She's not that surprised when she sees the gun in his hand.

She thinks she's even less surprised when he shoves her face into the wall.

However the apologetic look in his eyes.

That surprises her.

* * *

It happens quite quickly, and before Wilson can say a thing, he's tossed quite rudely into one of the operating rooms.

"Wait-"

The room is smaller than he remembers, and it smells like excretion, or maybe the fertiliser Julie likes to use on the yard. Either way it's unpleasant, and the nurses are clinging _desperately_ to each other, tears trickling down red cheeks, onto their white uniforms.

One of the girls stands tall though, her blonde hair falling out of what was previously a tight ponytail. Tear tracks don't mar her cheeks, but raw fear is clear in her big, grey eyes.

"Dr. Wilson," Her alto voice rings clear in his ears, not quite shaky enough to display her dread. "I think we may be in over our heads."

Her pale hands are clutching to her thin frame, but her shoulders are back, and her posture is firm. It's not right, he knows, for someone to be so afraid, yet so sure.

"I think you might be right." He says, and he puts his hand on her arm.

Closing her eyes, she leans into his wiry frame. She doesn't sob like he expects, but merely clutches at herself to assure her that she's still there. That instance of vulnerability is gone in seconds, and she sits up straight, "My name is Karen." She says, holding out her hand, he shakes it, it's courtesy.

* * *

She's crying now, and House really wishes that it had been Cameron, Wilson, _anyone_ but him that had been left here with this tiny girl. Because in reality, he's not very good at this.

Her gigantic blue eyes (no one should have eyes that big) are so watery and pathetic, and Burke's gone and her wound's all stitched up, and that's all he knows _how_ to do. Maybe if Stacy were here, she'd use psycho-babble on the kid, or Cameron would cuddle up to her, or Chase would kiss her, but he's himself, and it would never be alright if _he_ did any of it.

When she looks at him expectantly, he hands her a tissue, and when it's soggy enough that the tears are leaking through onto her dress, he hands her another one.

He was never very good at this.

* * *

TBC.

Thanks for bearing with me all, I rewrote the last chapter, and kinda merged it in two, I think it's less jumpy now.

This was all build-up, so the real stuff starts next chapter, hopefully the wait'll be shorter this time .


	4. Foreman

**Title:** Silver Butterflies

**Rating:** Ma

**Disclaimer:** Own only the obvious.

**Summary:** Little girls and guns, and suddenly their hostages, prisoners of their own hospital. It's funny how things become so much clearer when you think you're about to die.

**3. Foreman**.

* * *

_When he's 16, his brother dies. _

_It's not a disease that has a real cure, after all, there's no quick fix for a path of self-destruction. Rehab won't give back the years you lose, and treatment doesn't leave you scarless. _

_Marcus Foreman lost his life at the age of 19, shot in the head whilst arguing over the price of a heroin injection. _

_What a way to go._

* * *

"So why'd House hire you?" 

The question isn't even aimed at him, but he's startled out of his reverie anyway. It's been an hour and a half since they were jammed into their boss' empty office, and it had been an odd silence ever since Chase had woken up.

Cameron stared at the blond, an eyebrow quirked, blue eyes strained. "Where'd that come from?"

Chase shrugs, picking at the dried blood on the side of his face. "Just trying to start conversation…"

"He chose me on my skill, my references, talent…"

"Nah, that's why he kept you," He says, "I asked why he _hired_ you."

"Is there a difference?" Cameron asks, but she's fidgeting now, and Foreman can see straight through her. From the look on his face, so can Chase.

"I mean, he hired me because my Dad made a phonecall…"

Foreman snorts, sounds about right. He turns to Cameron, mouth ready to make a smart arse reply, but she's flushed and humiliated.

"I'm pretty…a piece of artwork in the lobby."

The blond nods, he understands. Foreman thinks that the fact that Chase is a good-looking little bastard has probably helped him in many situations as well.

"What about you?"

The eldest of the three suddenly finds himself the centre of attention, as his pretty colleagues look at him with childlike curiousity.

"I broke into someone's house." He replies, and really, that's all there is to it.

* * *

_There's always been the four of them, well at least as far as Eric can remember…then again, he's only 16._

_Simon Foreman is an accountant. A tall lean man, masculine build, with scars that run up and down his back telling tales of a past life._

_Abby Forman is a housewife. Short and wide and charming and tough, her hands have always been grazed and broken and Simon would always be mad when she punched the mother of the boy(or as they got older, the boy himself) who messed with her family. People said she wore the pants in the Foreman household, but that wasn't true, she merely wore the boxing gloves._

_Marcus is huge. Tall, and definitely not fat, he's just a hulking mass of bulging muscles, attractive and smart, with a pretty girl always at his side. Eric's always been slightly envious because he's short and is a bit on the heavy side. But then he recalls the syringes under his brother's bed, the liquid brain damage in little bottles under the sink. It's an unhealthy addiction, one that Eric's not jealous of._

* * *

Chase shakes his shoulder with surprising gentleness, and it's quite strange really, because Foreman doesn't remember falling asleep in the first place. 

"Are you ok?" Cameron asks, worry evident on her elfin face, "You don't look too good."

Foreman shakes his head, and with a wave of his hand, dismisses her concerns. He's not one for pity.

There's a girl there now, watching them from the other side of the glass walls. She can't be older than 17, matted black hair falls over her pale face, and wild green eyes stare at the three of them, pricing them and putting them on the shelf.

"Who the fuck is she?" Foreman asks, loud enough for her to hear, for those emerald orbs to latch onto him.

"Dunno," Chase answers, "She came into the clinic, was there when the guy knocked me out. Mumbled a load of crap, seems like a bit of a nut job."

Cameron twitches, gestures for the two men to lower their voices, frantic of the girl overhearing. But it doesn't matter, because she's gone, almost as quickly as she came.

The younger two are eyeing each other, hesitant over something that Foreman knows is about him. So he rolls his eyes, grins at the two reassuringly, "Yea?"

"You said you broke into a house…"

His grin drops immediately, "Yea."

"Why?"

Foreman doesn't answer, instead he turns towards the door where the hulking figure in the ski mask stands, patiently guarding his prisoners. "We're hostages."

Chase rolls his eyes, but Cameron appears taken aback. Her red-hair just starting to fall out of her normally well-kept ponytail.

"What?"

"This whole thing. It's a hold-up."

"But why?"

He shrugs, "Who knows? Drugs, money, a grudge - probably against House."

"Why would they bring a teenage girl here though?" Cameron asks, naïve and sweet.

"You seem to know a bit about it," Chase says to the older man, "Been a hostage before?"

Foreman shakes his head in the negative, and it was true, he hadn't been.

No, he'd been the one with the gun.

* * *

_Marcus dies on a cold night in early January. He's 19 years old, and has gone without a fix for three days. His hands shake and sweat is pouring off his body. _

_Tonight he's dragged Eric along for the ride. They're at a small café, way down town, and Marcus knows what he's doing._

_"Felker." He calls out, voice hoarse._

_The kid can't be older than 18, and he's a twitchy little thing, with greasy hair and sweaty palms. 'Felker' turns around, his beady eyes widening when latching onto Marcus' massive frame._

_"Foreman! What…what are you doing?" Marcus grabs the Felker kid by the scruff of his shirt neck, drags him aside. There are only four other people in the café, two waiters, a pregnant woman and a sorta fragile looking old man._

_"Eric!" Marcus yells, as he punches Felker in the gut, and it doesn't matter that he's only 16, the gun in Eric's hand is natural._

_"Don't anybody fucking move." He states, gun pointed at one of the waiters. He's done this before, and if no one moves, no one will get hurt. _

_Suddenly a gun shot tears through the air, and the pregnant woman is screaming, but there's no steam floating from the mouth of Eric's weapon._

_Something clicks in his head, and he turns before he can stop himself, just in time to see the blood ooze from his brothers neck, the gun in Felker's hand. It was a stupid thing to turn, because he's left himself wide open, and as the serving tray comes down on his head all he can think is how pissed off Marcus is gonna be._

* * *

The girl's outside again, but this time there's a gun in her hand. Upon sight of it Cameron yelps, and Chase unconsciously shuffles a little backwards. Foreman feels the blow to his ego though, that they're being held hostage by this scrawny, mad-eyed little girl. 

"But she's so _young_." Cameron says, eyes as wide as newborn Bambi.

Foreman shrugs, she's not _that_ young, but maybe it was because he was only 13 when he held his brother's for the first time, and this girl's gotta be about 17.

She shuffles into the room, her toe-sock clad feet sliding across the tiles. Their bulky guard remains outside the door, keeping one brown eye on his bony partner.

"I'm Eugenie." She states, pointing absently to herself with the gun, "Who are you guys?"

Cameron seems taken aback, "Dr. Cameron, this is Dr. Chase and Dr. Foreman."

Eugenie stares at them again, her big green eyes clouding over. "Damn. Not here, Rogers." She calls back to her partner, and starts to leave the room.

"Wait," Cameron calls out, blue eyes wide, "What…why are you doing this?"

The girl stares at the older woman, her eyes blank and lips pursed in a half-frown. "Because I have too." She says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"But this is a hospital…"

"Yes." Eugenie shrugs, rubbing her fingers over the mouth of the gun. "It's also just a building. A business."

"What?"

But Eugenie doesn't answer, she leaves the room, and through the glass they see her disappear down the hall.

* * *

_Eric has to leave, because his family is cold, little and broken now, and the numbers odd. It isn't Simon and Abby, Marcus and Eric, it's Simon and Abbey, and Eric on his own, clinging to some ridiculously foreign memory of his dead brother._

_He breaks into the Felker's house, because that bastard is the one that shot his brother. He doesn't know what he's going to do, so he just stands there, stares at the photos on the wall of a happy, wholesome, complete family…and suddenly all he feels is hate. A loathing that's running through his veins like wildfire._

_The cops are there half an hour later, and Eric hasn't even tried to escape. He's ransacked the house, flushed every ounce of heroin he could find down the sink, and then proceeded to break everything he could get his hands on._

_He couldn't bring his brother back, but he could send his killer to hell with him._

* * *

**A/N**

So it's starting to pick up. Woot!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed.


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